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“Your niece’s hand in marriage.”

“You want to marry me?” Sophie asked, stunned. It was one thing to talk in generalities, another to know he wanted the entire commitment.

“You want to marry her?” Lizzie parroted, sounding equally surprised.

“What the hell is wrong with everyone?” Riley asked. “I love her. Of course I want to marry her,” he shouted, silencing the entire room.

“Yes!” Lizzie said, recovering first.

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that,” Yank said gruffly, beaming with happiness and obvious approval.

Without warning, the crowd reacted next. Her sisters, and then Uncle Yank and Lola, who now stood beside him, broke into a round of applause.

“You aren’t upset?” Sophie asked Lizzie quietly when the clapping had died down.

She noticed that Riley leaned in closer, waiting for his daughter’s answer.

“Hell, no. Now Dad’ll be in a good mood all the time and he’ll start saying yes to things again,” Lizzie said, grinning.

“Miss Mouth,” Riley said, warning her.

But even Sophie noticed the twitch in his lips. His happiness shone through his disapproval and warmed Sophie straight through to her toes. “You’re quite the little schemer,” Sophie said, laughing.

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

“She inherited it from me,” Riley said. “And now I’d like a word alone with my future bride.” Instead of telling everyone else to scram as Sophie expected him to do, he turned to Yank. “As your first official duty, you can keep an eye on your soon-to-be…whatever you want to call her,” he said, laughing.

Lizzie narrowed her gaze in a way that said, I’m gonna get you for that. But her eyes were dancing with happiness. Apparently she wasn’t kidding; Lizzie did approve of Riley and Sophie at last.

Riley grabbed Sophie’s hand and pulled her through the ballroom, out the large doors and into the unoccupied coatroom closet, slamming the door behind them. A dim light glowed from overhead.

Riley bracketed his hands against the wall over her head. “I cannot believe I finally have you alone,” he said, his eyes glittering with desire.

She was way ahead of him. Every pore in her body craved his touch.

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?”

She shook her head. “No, but something tells me you’re going to.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips as he settled his mouth on hers. It was a long, sensual while before he lifted his head and met her gaze. “You look spectacular,” he said in a husky voice.

“Tell me again,” she said.

“You’re brave, beautiful and mine.” Then he dipped his head and he told her in other ways. Over and over and over again.

EPILOGUE

SENATOR HARLAN NASH and his wife had insisted on having Sophie and Riley’s wedding at their Mississippi estate, and Sophie, God love her, Yank thought, had agreed.

What the hell would have been wrong with the Plaza or another of the old New York City hotels? Yank wondered. He was paying for the shindig anyway. At least he thought he was. Between all the arguing going on, he could never be sure.

Annabelle and Micki had made gorgeous matrons of honor while Lizzie had been the only bridesmaid, and the cute kid had reveled in the attention. As she’d walked down the aisle, she’d waved to everyone like the Queen of England. With her spunk and attitude, she actually reminded him a little of Micki as a kid, he thought, grinning.

Then Yank had walked Sophie down the aisle-without his cane, he thought proudly. He didn’t need a walking stick when he had a dog as smart as Noodle. Never mind that she’d sniffed something and taken off for the other side of the bushes, wedding rings hooked into her collar. A waitress had retrieved them, crawling out of the greenery with leaves poking from her head in time for the I do’s.

The best part of the day had come when Spencer had walked his son halfway down the aisle. The senator had taken over midway. It seemed like a fair compromise to all involved. Everybody had ignored the protestors out back. Harlan had announced his intention to let the voters have their say come November and if retirement was in his future, he had plenty of other pursuits, he’d said. Yank hadn’t a clue what those were, but the man seemed resigned to Spencer’s orientation and place in Riley’s life. Nothing else mattered as far as Yank was concerned.

Now he stood in the backyard, the party tapering down. Many of the senator’s Southern guests had taken leave, as they called it, which was just fine with Yank. The women and their umbrellas and finery, the old men and their fine talk. He’d been like a goddamn fish out of water, is what he’d been. Even with his friends here-like Curly and, of course, Spencer-Yank had kept getting nudged in the ribs by Lola. Minding his manners and his p’s and q’s wasn’t his way. Never had been.

The only good thing was that Spencer’s fruitcake sisters had behaved worse than Yank ever had. Rose and Darla had both dived for the bridal bouquet, pushing the younger women out of the way, ending up fighting each other smack dab in the middle of the dance floor. In the end, they’d split the bouquet in half, though Yank couldn’t see what kind of man would have either of the nut jobs. He had to admit Spencer’s niece, Amy, seemed nice enough, but she had her hands full keeping her mother and aunt in line.

The day was almost over and Yank shook his head in disbelief. He’d raised and married off all three of his girls. Hell, he’d even gone and gotten married himself. How the heck had that happened? he wondered.

Well, at least he still had his Cubans, he thought, patting his breast pocket. He’d hand the suckers out when Lola’s back was turned. The woman had eyes like a hawk.

God how he loved her.

“What are you thinking about?” Lola asked, coming up beside him and linking her arm through his.

“Just admiring my handiwork.”

She looked up at him, confused. “What handiwork?”

“Well, the girls and their men, of course!” He pointed to their family gathered beneath the large white tent.

“The girls all found themselves perfect mates, which as far as I can see, had nothing whatsoever to do with you.” Lola patted his shoulder. “But you tell yourself whatever makes you happy, honey.”

Now he knew she was goading him on purpose. Probably because she liked kissing and making up so much. “Now, Lola, give me due credit. I was the one who made sure Annabelle went up to Greenlawn to work on Vaughn’s resort PR, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” she agreed. “You were also the one who showed up unannounced, stayed and drove them insane.”

“Surveying the lay of the land, so to speak. Checkin’ up on them.”

Lola frowned. “You were running away from me and you know it. Annabelle and Vaughn found their way to each other on their own, no thanks to you.”

“I sent him after her,” he insisted. “Now take Micki and Damian. Who arranged it so Micki had to be the one to go on down to Florida to handle the Renegades’ publicity?” Lola nodded. “You did. Where she was set up and ended up in a strip joint. Admit it, Micki and Damian had some real issues standing between them. That they came together is a credit to them not you.”

Yank groaned at her stubbornness. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“And before you go saying you’re responsible for Sophie and Riley being together, that had everything to do with Spencer running off to Florida and nothing to do with you.”

The woman wouldn’t give him credit for a dang thing.

“But there is something you get one-hundred-percent credit for,” she said, her voice softening as she leaned in close.